The Way She Looks At Me

The apartment was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that gnawed at him, like it used to before she moved in. This was a different silence. Softer. Warmer. One filled with the faintest hums of life—a kettle whistling low in the kitchen, the occasional shuffle of feet against hardwood, the scent of something earthy blooming faintly in the air. Something Esme had brought with her, no doubt. He still didn't know what it was, but it had soaked into the walls, into the fabric of his life.

And into him.

Liam rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed. The clock read 8:03 AM. He'd slept in—a rarity. His badge sat untouched on the nightstand. His body was sore, not from the job, but from how long he'd spent sitting against her door last night after her nightmare. She hadn't cried out this time. She'd just paced until her feet gave out and her body folded into the mattress like it didn't want to carry the weight anymore.

He'd listened to the silence until he was sure she'd fallen asleep again. Then he'd stayed.

Because some part of him didn't want her to feel alone. Not like he had, back then.

He pulled on a hoodie and padded out of the room.

She was already in the kitchen.

Of course she was.

She stood at the stove, barefoot, wearing one of his shirts that dwarfed her frame in the best way. He had no idea how she'd gotten it, but he didn't even mind.

Her curls were tied up in that effortless bun she seemed to master without trying. She hadn't noticed him yet. She was focused, brows drawn slightly as she flipped something golden in a pan. Pancakes, by the smell. Maybe eggs too.

She hummed under her breath. Something melodic and familiar.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, pretending not to notice how the sight made his chest feel... stupid.

"If you keep humming like that, I might forget I live alone," he said, voice still hoarse with sleep.

She turned, startled for half a second. Then she smirked.

"You don't live alone anymore, remember?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm letting you crash, not adopting a cat."

"Same difference."

She plated the food and handed him a dish. He took it with a small nod. She poured tea into two mismatched mugs—he hadn't owned more than one before she arrived. Now he had three.

They ate in quiet. Not because they had nothing to say, but because neither of them wanted to break the strange calm that had settled between them. It wasn't peace. Not really. Just a lull in the storm.

Eventually, she broke the silence.

"Irene sent me a message. Said she found a few listings. Houses with gardens. Greenhouse potential."

He chewed slowly. "That's good."

"She wants me to check them out tomorrow."

He nodded. Waited.

Then—just barely—her voice shifted.

"You could come. If you're free, I mean."

Liam looked up.

And there it was.

That flicker of something fragile in her gaze. The subtle dip in her confidence, like asking him to tag along was somehow too much. Too personal.

She was asking him to see the kind of life she was trying to rebuild. She was asking him to be part of the choosing.

He didn't hesitate.

"Yeah," he said. "Of course."

She blinked. Just once. But he caught the way her shoulders relaxed.

"Then we could check out the one you mentioned," she added, so softly he almost didn't hear it.

He was pleased to hear that, but he didn't show it.

They finished breakfast. He washed the dishes while she wrapped up a leftover portion for later. It felt…normal. Dangerous, how normal it felt.

——————————————————

That afternoon, work was a blur.

He ran two interviews, reviewed a few old case files. But his mind kept slipping. Back to the way her eyes softened when she wasn't guarding herself. Back to her hands arranging objects on the table while she explained how much light certain plants needed. Back to the hesitation in her voice when she'd said You could come.

He pulled out his phone on break.

Liam: Did you get the full list from Irene yet?

Esme: Just did. Three properties. One has a gazebo. I'm sold.

Liam: A gazebo? That's what sealed the deal?

Esme: Obviously. I'm a woman of refined taste.

He chuckled under his breath.

Liam: We leaving early tomorrow?

Esme: Yup. Gotta catch the sunlight. You might even smile for once.

Liam: Don't push your luck.

He didn't even notice the time passing after that.

——————————————————

When he returned home that evening, the apartment smelled like rosemary and something citrusy. Esme sat cross-legged on the floor, sketchpad in hand. She'd drawn rough floor plans of her dream house. A small greenhouse in the back. Bookshelves that lined entire walls. A kitchen with an island. A soft reading nook by a wide window.

She didn't look up when he entered.

"You're late."

"You say that like I'm not allowed to have a job."

"Just saying," she murmured. "The plants were worried."

He dropped his keys on the counter. "Should've called me. I'd have sent a group text."

She snorted. Still didn't look up.

He sat beside her. Close, but not touching.

And she finally glanced at him.

For a moment, they didn't say anything.

Then she handed him the sketchpad.

"This is what I want," she said.

Liam studied the page.

The lines were a little messy. But the vision was clear. A life built with intention. With softness. With beauty.

"Looks nice," he said. "Bit too normal, though."

"That's what the gazebo's for," she said smoothly. "Adds mystery."

He laughed. A quiet, real sound.

She didn't laugh with him, but she smiled.

And after a while, as the city darkened outside their windows, she said it.

So soft he almost missed it.

"I want to find something that feels like mine again."

Then, a beat.

She didn't look at him, but her voice was softer now. "Thanks for coming with me."

He looked at her.

Really looked.

And his voice was steady when he said:

"You didn't have to ask."